#personal quest

>The mystic baseballbat is swung, sending the end flying as Tobias, Mage of Void, zips by enemies, unnoticed, knowingly leading the returning Batarang through them, turning them into grist and loot.

> A crack forms in the ground, and a giant beast hauls itself out of the precipice, bellowing out an earth-shaking roar as the baseball bat returns to be swung again. A tired sigh is heaved from the troll, and he winds up a practiced swing, sending the bat head cycloning towards the enemy. A tri-digeted hand is outstretched, and with shaking muscles a chunk of canopies and earth are rended from its spot. Psiioniic energy ripples around it as Tobias winds back and hurls the airborne landmass into the side of the giants head.

“My friend is a Spirit of Wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade.” Solas sighed.

“I thought spirits wanted to find their way into this world.”

“Some do, certainly, just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically.”

“Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?”

Solas shook his head, his body shaking with barely controlled rage at the thought that these mages might hurt his friend in any way, and Newti understood—losing a friend to hostile action was never easy…she lost enough clan members to know how he felt. She closed the space between them, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze; she’d do everything she could to help, to put his mind at ease—her touch soothed him more than she knew, just having her on his side made him happier than he’d been in a long time. Maybe one day he could care about her like that; sure, she could take care of herself, but it’d be nice to have someone risk everything to try to keep her out of harm’s way. Newti sighed and rubbed her hands up and down his arms, wishing there was something she could do to stop the terrors that plagued his mind—it tore her apart inside that she couldn’t fix it. All she could do was try to be there for him and hope her presence was enough to push the memories to the back of his mind, even if they were always going to be lurking beneath the surface ready to strike…

“No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade.” His eyebrows knit together. “It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it.”

He’d jumped straight to the worst possible scenario, but she nodded; they wouldn’t know anything by standing here. “All right; let’s go get your friend.”

She felt his muscles relax under her hands. “Thank you. I got a sense of my friend’s location before I awoke. I will mark it on our map.”

It had been a long, hard ride to the place in the Exalted Plains where Solas had felt the last stirring of his friend outside the Fade; if Newti could’ve gotten there faster, maybe she would’ve been in time. A ripple of magic ran through the clearing, sending a shiver down her spine, and that was when she saw the bodies—bloodied corpses littered the ground in front of them; her magic skittered through her body preparing for a battle, pulling her staff off her back and gripping it tightly in her right hand, when a loud roar echoed across the plains, the sound of fighting and magic reverberating in her ears, as she and Solas rounded the corner, catching a glimpse of what was happening—Varric and Blackwall were back at camp, she’d thought it best for the two of them to come out alone. A pride demon loomed over three mages fighting from a distance, four pillars of ice—warded and out of place in the balmy heat—rose up from the ground, a ring of green in the grass around the demon; just as Solas had suspected: a summoning circle, and a prison to the spirit trapped within. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror as Solas’ face fell, staring sadly at the pride demon as all hope drained from his body. They were too late…the spirit of wisdom corrupted.

“My friend…” He growled.

“The mages turned your friend into a demon.” She breathed.

Solas glanced down, toying with his sleeve as he decided the best course of action. “Yes.”

“You said it was a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter—”

“A spirit becomes a demon when denied it’s original purpose.” He interrupted, the two of them glancing towards the hulking beast.

These mages had been playing with forces beyond their ken. How many other spirits had been forced beyond the veil out of the Fade, summoned and bound, changed and turned into demons for this damn war? How many had she killed without knowing? This wasn’t even the first time, Varric had told her about the mages who had been turning Templars into demons, she’d seen the Wardens under Clarel doing the exact same thing, and now this—even if Corypheus didn’t succeed, he had them all playing to their fears, and the result was terrifying. A mage had broken away from the fighting and approached them cautiously, probably seeking their help against the demon they’d made and lost control of, not very smart considering the low growl that emanated from Solas’ throat in warning. She grabbed his hand a he reached for his staff, ready to fight first and ask questions later—but they needed answers; her hand in his stayed his rage…tempering him, if only for a moment. Her hand in his was the only reason he hadn’t broken this man’s neck.

Newti closed her eyes in horror, wondering how she was going to keep Solas from breaking down. “So, they summoned it for something so opposed to its own nature that it was corrupted. Fighting?”

“Let us ask them.”

“Mages! You’re not with the bandits? Do you have any Lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted…We’ve been fighting that demon…”

“You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time! You made it kill! You twisted it against it’s purpose!” Solas snarled.

“I…I…I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can—” The mage stuttered.

“We’re not here to help you.”

Newti pinched the bridge of her nose, suddenly in an extremely awkward position: always vowing to help those in need, but if she tried to save them from their own stupidity, she’d have an elf who knew the Fade like the back of his hand and helped her with her Rift Mage studies angry at her and willing to unleash all his fury on her. They’d been too late, and she didn’t know what she was going to do to help Solas through this; this spirit had been his friend for a long time there, and this was going to destroy him. She took a deep breath and moved closer to him, ready to stop him from doing anything stupid should the need arise—she could tell just by looking at him that this was probably not going to end well. But she wasn’t willing to back down—they’d save his friend, and in doing so, save his friend from being a demon; the more lives she could save, the better she’d feel at the end…her bleeding heart was going to get her in trouble someday, but for now it was going to serve her well. She’d studied enough summoning and binding rituals to know what must be done, both hers and Solas’ knowledge of the arcane very helpful in their situation.

She sighed. “Word of advice? I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here.”

“Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall circle—” The mage tried again.

“Shut up.” Solas growled, dropping Newti’s hand and crossing his arms over his chest, glaring daggers at the man before them. “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.”

“I—yes.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned.” He spat, before turning to her, a silent plea in his eyes. “The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

The mage shook his head. “What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

“Inquisitor, please.”

Newti nodded—she trusted him, and they’d wasted enough time already; she had lives to save. “It’s doable. I’ve studied rituals like this. I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly.”

“Thank you.” Solas breathed. “We must hurry!”

“Of course.”

The mage ran off in the opposite direction, probably hoping the demon would finish them off and be too tired to go after him should they fail. Stuck inside the circle just beyond where they stood, the pride demon rose up to its full height, letting out a monstrous roar as it stared at them. Lightning sparked across it’s body, claws ready to rip them apart. There wasn’t much time before they lost Solas’ friend forever; fire raced down Newti’s arm and down then staff she clutched in her hand, he whole body lit up by blue flames as she muttered a spell under her breath—a counter to the summoning circle’s magic wards. The ground shook as the pride demon turned its attention on them, lightning arcing across its form again, ready to destroy them, but they knew exactly what they were doing. The other mages fled the same way when they realized the intent of the two elves, attention focused only on the four pillars of ice, breaking the summoning circle while dodging claws and swipes from the demon, but never firing a shot at it. it didn’t take long, and the giant hulking pride demon let out a bellow before shrinking suddenly in size, twisting into the figure of a woman in mage robes, eyes glowing green with corruption and her visage dripping green energy instead of the golden Fade aura Newti was used to.

“Lethalin ir abelas.” Solas whispered, setting his staff on the ground as he knelt in front of his friend.

“Tel abelas. En azel. Urtalin. Mamae llava alanae. Mala suledin nadas. Maga llanae me danan.” She replied, smiling gently; there was no way to ensure she remained a spirit after her ordeal, and she would rather die as herself than as a demon.

“Ma nuveinen.” Sadness filled Solas’ eyes as he glanced away, finding Newti’s gaze before he looked back at the spirit in front of him, holding out his hands and watching her dissolve into nothing. “Dareth shiral.”

Newti placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle, affectionate squeeze—he’d done everything he could. “I heard what it said. It was right, you did help it.”

“Now…I must endure.” He sighed.

“Let me know if I can help.” Her voice was soft and comforting.

“You already have.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, only lasting a second as the three mages jogged over to them. “All that remains now is them.”

He practically spat the word ‘them’ as he glowered at the mages, cowering just beyond the Inquisitor’s shoulder. Their eyes widened in surprise; they’d gone about this all wrong, realizing it as Solas rounded on them, fury in his blue eyes, the hint of purple more prominent in his rage—their only saving grace at this moment was that Newti didn’t want him to become a killer; it would be the biggest mistake of his life. She edged closer, while his attention was on the mages, ready to intervene if necessary. Newti put a gentle hand on Solas’ arm, feeling how tense he was and the lock of his muscles; he was ready to kill them for their ignorance, and that worried her—she didn’t want him to do this, a plea in her eyes, hoping what he read in them convinced him to back down. She was here for him and she understood how he felt; he was grieving but killing them wouldn’t bring his friend back.

“Thank you. We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.” The mage said, stepping forward.

Newti pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing he’d had the common sense not to say a word.

“You tortured and killed my friend.” Solas growled low in his throat as he broke free of her grip on his arm, side-stepping her and advancing menacingly on the three mages.

He tripped over his own feet as he stumbled backwards. “We didn’t know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!”

So much for being the foremost expert in the Kirkwall circle on all things demon. She felt the lightning reacting instinctively and creating a wall between Solas and the mages, her interference in their deaths made him turn to her. She wasn’t going to let this incident change him; no matter how much life knocked him down, he seemed to have an uncanny ability to bounce back harder and stronger than ever, and this was no different. She got why he was upset, she really did, and he could take all the time in the world to make peace with her decision, but she stood by it; no matter how smitten she was, she wasn’t going to compromise her sense of self, of what was right and wrong, for him. And if he wanted her to, she’d step back from whatever this was between them in an instant. She only ever killed out of necessity, in self-defense, never revenge, but then again, he’d known that spirit for a very long time, it was like his clan; she just hoped that he wouldn’t hate her for stopping him. When he wanted to talk about it, he’d talk, and she would be there to listen when he was ready, no strings attached.

“I suggest you leave the book and run—don’t look back.” Newti muttered, placing herself between Solas and the mages; if he wanted them he had to go through her.

Solas growled. “Inquisitor, they killed—”

“I know what they did. Dammit Solas, you are better than that, than them.”

“Never again.” He growled, the lightning retreating from his hand as they nodded meekly before turning tail and running, Solas kicking the dirt in frustration. “Damn them all. I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

Newti just nodded slowly, leaving him alone in the clearing—only looking back once to see him headed in the opposite direction; it wasn’t her place to push, she just hoped he didn’t hate her when everything was said and done. She took a deep breath, wiping away the tear sliding down her cheek and steeling herself for whatever. She picked her way carefully through the Exalted Plains, doing her best not to draw attention to herself, not in the right mindset for a confrontation—what she wouldn’t give to go back to her clan and put this whole Herald of Andraste thing behind her. She hoped Solas was okay. Why couldn’t she have fallen for Blackwall or Cullen or Varric instead of the knowledgeable fade-loving elf who tried her patience and her morals? Blackwall and Varric were talking about jousting as they sat by the fire, patiently awaiting their illustrious leader’s return, trying not to say anything about how sad and scared she looked, returning without the elf she’d left with. Whatever had happened out there with Solas had really rattled her cage and she looked like she could use her friends.

“Where’s Chuckles?” Varric asked when she arrived back at camp on her own.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he wanted to be alone and would meet us back at Skyhold.”

“Then I shall get started packing up camp, milady.” Blackwall didn’t push, and for that she was grateful.

“That was his real plan, I bet: get out of packing up camp. His tender constitution can’t take the hard work.” Varric teased, drawing a laugh from Newti, some of the tension draining from her shoulders.

It was nice to see her smiling again.

The passed the ride back to Skyhold, trading jokes and even dragging her into their tourney discussion—doing everything in their power to make her feel better and forget what had happened. Even convinced her to come to Orlais with them and see one. They kept her mind from wandering back to that moment in the Fade when they’d kissed. Solas’ lithe, muscular body pressed against hers, his hands on her hips, muscular thigh between her legs, the two of them breathing heavily as they stared into the other’s eyes. It hadn’t helped that he was so cute. Solas still wasn’t back when they returned to Skyhold—she’d checked everywhere he liked to go to be alone and think, asking the scouts to keep an eye out for him before heading up to her room to draw a scalding hot bath and sink into it, the water up to her shoulders as she drew her legs up towards her chest, resting her chin on her knees. Washing away the journey and everything that happened after, her only recourse, absently lathering up a loofa and rubbing it up and down her arms and neck, when a light knock sounded at her door, Scout Jim entering at her bidding.

“Oh, Inquisitor, I’m sorry!” He blushed and looked down, even if the walls of the basin hid everything.

“I assume you have news?”

“Scouts have spotted Solas heading towards Skyhold.”

She bit her lower lip, shifting in the tub, water sloshing up over the sides but evaporating before the hit the floor thanks to her magic. “Thank you.”

Jim bowed out of the room, blushing and stuttering as he departed; she’d probably scarred the poor scout, and shouldn’t have sent him back to Cullen in that state, but she was a little preoccupied. She rinsed off, dressing quickly and fled down the steps out to the courtyard, where Solas walked under the portcullis sadly, his steps slow and heavy. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been that he wouldn’t come back until she saw him there, wondering if she’d damaged everything between them beyond repair when she’d stopped him from killing those mages. But two wrongs didn’t make a right, and she refused to apologize for doing what she believed to be right. She’d accidentally built a metaphorical—and a physical—wall. He looked like he was feeling slightly better—still upset, but that was to be expected at the loss of a treasured friend—but the malice that had been in his eyes when she’d stopped him from killing the mages was gone, and that was a good start. In fact, there was a different emotion altogether in his eyes as they followed the trail of a droplet of water from her wet red hair, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He inclined his head cordially in her direction. “Inquisitor.”

“How are you, Solas?” Her voice was soft.

“It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”

“Thank you for coming back.”

“You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help…” He paused. “I could hardly abandon you now.”

“Where did you go?”

He smiled softly at her—even after everything she still wanted to know about him. “I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new may grow there.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she smiled back at him, sitting down on the steps and patting the seat next to her, that familiar mischievous spark of lightning arcing across her tongue as she licked her lips. Newti scooted closer, her hip bumping his as she leaned in towards him, resting her head on his shoulder, her presence a comfort after that whole ordeal. Solas hadn’t realized how much she reassured him just by being there, a true friend in times of trouble. It had been so long since he’d trusted anyone, opened up, like he did when he was with her. He’d been attracted to her since day one—for more than just her looks, though those were incredible too. It was her presence; the way she inspired him to be better without even trying. She was protective of everyone around her, a born leader, the hero Thedas needed; the fate of everyone resting squarely on her very qualified shoulders. But she wasn’t allowed to show the wear and tear…didn’t have the luxury, and he suddenly felt guilty—not only had he caused that, he’d added to it.

“What happens when a spirit dies?” She asked, staring out across the courtyard.

“It isn’t the same as for a mortal. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again.” He explained, the scent of her hair pleasant in his nostrils making it hard to focus.

“So, it isn’t really dead? You’re saying your friend might come back?” The hope in her voice made his heart flutter in his chest—she really did change everything.

“No, not really. A spirit’s natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew.”

Newti’s hand settled over his where it rested on his thigh—she was here for him no matter what. “The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone.”

He hung his head. “It’s been so long since I could trust someone.”

“I know.”

“I’ll work on it. And thank you.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, smiling pleasantly at him before leaning in to kiss his cheek and standing, leaving him alone to gather his thoughts—most of which revolved around her…

Elvish this Chapter was phonetically taken from the game, considering my subtitles were the English translation, so I apologize if the spelling is slightly off.

Lethalin ir abelas: I’m sorry

Tel abelas: I’m not [sorry]

En azel: I’m happy

Urtalin: I’m me again

Mamae llava alanae: You helped me

Mala suledin nadas: Now you must endure

Maga llanae me danan: Guide me into death

Ma nuveinen: As you say